


Guardian

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Reaper76 [47]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Comfort/Angst, Death, Delirium, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lies, M/M, Memories, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Protectiveness, Reconciliation, Secrets, Serious Injuries, Trust, Trust Issues, Truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Reaper goes hunting for Soldier 76 after he’s got in the way one too many times, only to find him badly wounded and hovering close to the death. With his suspicions about the other man's identity confirmed, and old feelings stirring he finds himself trying to protect the other man...unaware that Jack has no idea that it's him, or that his actions will be their undoing.





	1. Chapter 1

    Reaper dragged his claws across the surface of the table, the only sign of irritation that he would allow himself under the watchful eyes of the Talon agents in the room, aware that their ‘trust’ in him was already tentative at best. If they suspected that he had a personal reason for being interested in the vigilante Soldier 76 then they would try to exploit it, which would end in him having to end his partnership with them and lose a vast amount of resources in doing so. Not something he was willing to risk just yet, and so he waited and hid his interest behind half-feigned anger, eyes narrowing behind his mask as he studied the display they had just brought up on the main screen, searching for anything that would be useful to his own interests, but unable to stop himself from eyeing the pattern of attacks on the screen, claws biting into the surface of the table.

   He knows those bases. At one point, he had known all of them, walked their corridors openly with all eyes turning towards him and the man at his side. Overwatch bases, Blackwatch bases. It’s not the first time he’s noticed Soldier 76’s interest in Overwatch, although as far as he knows the man has no link to the newly reformed rabble that are trying to bring the organisation back and his attention drifts, losing interest in the debate ranging around him and instead thinking back to his own encounters with the man.

_He had entered the old base which had been overrun with a local gang, intending to remove their presence before searching through the archives for anything that he could use. The fact that Talon were financing the operation, wanting to reclaim the territory and any weapons that remained on the base making the job all the sweeter. At least until he’d stepped into the main warehouse to find his prey already taken care of, many of them dead, their souls already fading from his sight, although there were a couple still stirring and groaning to the side. However, his attention was on the figure hunched over the computers, eyes narrowing at the distinctive red 76 that he could make out even in the half-light, recognition stirring in the back of his mind. He hadn’t met the man before, but he had heard rumours about the vigilante that had been a thorn in the side of many organisations lately, and he had to admit that he was intrigued, which was why he didn’t lift his weapon as he stepped into the open._

_“Soldier 76?” He had to admire the man’s reflexes, the snowy hair having made him estimate the man to be older than he was, either that or he had enhancements or special training. Not that he got to appreciate it for long as he took in the pulse rifle now aimed directly at him, something unpleasant shifting in his chest at the sight of the weapon, memories stirring of another man who had preferred weapons like that. He didn’t let himself dwell on it for long though, lifting his gaze and scowling at the masked features and the tactical visor hiding the other man from view, making it hard to get a read on him._

“ _What do you want?” The man’s voice is gruff and slightly distorted by the mask, there’s nothing familiar about it and yet Reaper can’t supress the shiver that goes down his spine, not that it shows through his own mask for which he’s grateful. Part of him is tempted to remove the threat, to just end this now and get what he came for and yet something makes him hesitate, studying the man for a moment before spreading his arms to show he’s unarmed…for now._

_“To make you an offer,” he doesn’t know what’s put the thought in his head, and he knows that Talon would be less than happy with him pairing up with the vigilante who had been a thorn in their side for the last couple of months, but the words are out there now and he has no intention of taking them back._

_“I’m not interested.” The blunt refusal hung in the air for a moment, before the silence was shattered by a burst of gunfire, every single one of the bullets finding its mark making Reaper stagger. However, that was something that wouldn’t have been a threat on its own if it hadn’t been backed up with a helix rocket a split second later, the impact flinging Reaper flying backwards and driving his nanites into overdrive in an attempt to hold him together, forcing him to retreat._

   That had been the most civil of their encounters, and that wasn’t really saying much. Ever since that failed attempt, neither of them had hesitated to fire at the other, more than once descending into a physical fight. something they were evenly matched at, despite Reaper’s enhanced abilities. In fact, Soldier 76 fought him in a way that reminded him starkly of another man, someone from happier times who had been the only person capable of beating him in training or the field. It was that, along with the shiver he got whenever he was around the other man, as well as little ticks that he picked up on during their encounters. Like the way the man would make a reckless move at the drop of a hat if he thought it would buy even a second’s advantage, and the way he had thrown a mission more than once when civilians had got in the way, even going so far as to throw himself into the path of attacks to shield nameless, faceless people that Reaper would have torn through without hesitation. All those actions had fed the growing suspicion in the back of his mind, a thought that was growing stronger no matter how many times he re-watched the footage of the rescue efforts at Zurich, and the grand farce that had been the Strike Commander’s funeral, a suspicion that he wasn’t the only one to have made it out of that hell hole.

    His claws had nearly completely pierced the table at this point, and it was a sharp kick under the table that had him jerking to attention, pulling his hand away even as he glowered across the table at an innocent looking Sombra. He would need to speak to her later, although as he slowly tuned back into the conversation around him, he decided that maybe he should be thanking her instead.

“If we lose any more resources to this vigilante then it’s going to start threatening our operations elsewhere.” Reaper snorted at that, the sound thankfully muffled by his mask. They were still trying to downplay Talon’s reach and resources around him, a wasted effort with Sombra on his side, but he wasn’t about to admit that. And whist it was an exaggeration he knew that the damage that Soldier 76 was causing could prove to be an issue in the future, and then there was the fact that it grated on his nerves to think of someone stealing something he could be using, especially if it was who he was beginning to suspect it was. “There’s also the additional concern that some have raised, that being that he might join forces with Overwatch in order to coordinate their attacks.” _One solider won’t make that much difference,_ Reaper wants to snarl at them, flinging the words they’ve used against him too many times, a warning to remind him that despite his skills, he’s still expendable. However, holds back the words, because he’s not sure he really believes that. If Solider 76 is who he thinks he is then, then his presence in Overwatch could pose a very real problem, to all of them.

_Not least to me…_

“I’ll deal with it,” Reaper growled before anyone else could say anything, revelling in the silence that followed his words, but noting the protests that he could already see forming and longing to just to take out his guns and settle it that way. It’s only the fact that it’s bad business to destroy your tools before they had served their purpose that stops him from giving into the temptation. However, he had no intention of letting them argue with him. He wants…needs…to find the answer to his suspicions, and if it is him, if it is Jack Morrison, then he wants to be the one to kill the other man with his own hands. He keeps that longing carefully hidden, instead sitting back in his seat and gazing around the room, pleased to see them shift nervously under his gaze. “As your men are clearly incapable of handling this threat.” It’s dangerous to take a dig at them, especially when he has yet to take the man down himself, and he can see Sombra frowning at him, but he’s not about to take it back.

    They make a show of debating it, sending needling comments and sideways glances that push his temper very close to the edge, but he holds it back. He wants this hunt. He will be the one to take down Soldier 76 regardless of what they decide, it would just be nice to make extra profit on the task and hopefully gain a sliver of trust from his actions. Sombra isn’t paying attention to the debate, gaze fixated on the tablet in her hands, glove glowing purple as she forces her way into whatever system she’s looking at and he knows that she’s already searching for his prey when she glances up at him with a tiny nod. He owes her… _again_ … but he doesn’t react, instead waiting for his ‘partners’ to reach the decision that he knew they were going to make, barely moving apart from to nod when its eventually agreed that he will take the job.

_Idiots…_

**

   Now that the ‘decision’ is made the rest of the meeting is thankfully quick, Reaper letting his attention waver once more, tasting the hunt to come and itching to already be on his way. However, he doesn’t move when the room begins to empty around him, ignoring and being ignored in turn by the Talon members as they file out, only lifting his head when it’s just him and Sombra left in the room.

“Well?”

“You really should be nicer when asking for things,” Sombra is probably the only person around him now who doesn’t flinch at his growl, or back down when he snarls at her, mist rising from his skin as his body threatens to fall apart in response to his emotions, merely arching an eyebrow at him in challenge. He growls anyway, forcing himself to settle, knowing that she likes to needle him and that the more he reacts, the longer she will draw it out.

“Sombra…”

“Fine, fine, keep your nanites together.” The urge to throttle her is rising, especially when she smirks at him, but he refuses to react again and after a moment she huffs before admitting defeat. “His last few attacks haven’t had a particular pattern, but I expanded my search from there, and…” She pushes her tablet towards him and he hooks it closer with his claws, enjoying the way she winces at his handling of her precious tech, before his attention is drawn to the screen. Or rather to the the camera feed it’s showing, form shifting out of excitement as he spots the familiar figure of Soldier 76 slipping into a side street, any attempts at remaining inconspicuous somewhat ruined by the stupidly distinctive coat, and the tactical visor that is in place even though there’s no trace of his rifle to be seen.

“Got you,” Reaper growls, already tasting the victory to come as he taps the screen, studying the map with narrowed eyes and quashing the pang as he realises that the other man is heading for the base where he had first met Jack Morrison. The base where they had signed their lives away to the Soldier Enhancement Program. The place where they had started the path that had led to today, and his fingers tighten around the device. If his suspicions are correct and it is Jack Morrison that he’s going to confront, then it’s an oddly poetic place for them to end things.

“Hey Gabe?” Sombra’s voice, soft and suddenly hesitant catches his attention and he forgets to scold her for using the nickname in a public place when he takes in the concerned expression on her face as she holds out her hand for the tablet. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so interested in this guy?” He debates whether to answer her as he surrenders the device, before sighing, gaze returning to the camera feed that she’s just brought up again and his voice when he replies, is far softer than he had intended.

“He might be an old…friend.”

****

    _He’s failed_. That’s the only thought in Soldier 76’s mind as he slides down against the wall, trembling legs unable to support his body any longer, his rifle clattering to the ground beside him as his grip loosens. He had known that the mission was too risky, hell it was part of the reason he had chosen it when he knew that he was already pushing his body, enhanced though it was, close to the edge. It was his atonement. His way of paying for all the lives that he had taken, that he had failed, that had fallen whilst he seemed destined to live on. He was alive when everything told him that he should have died that day in Zurich, and so he pushed and pushed, willing to throw everything away if it would just atone for some of his actions. If it would just make a tiny difference. He doubted that it had and from the weakness that was creeping through his limbs, chased by a chill that seeped into his aching bones, he had a feeling that it never would. His eyes stung behind the visor even as his artificial vision began to fog over, the nanites unable to maintain their function as unconsciousness crept over him.

_Failed…_

_I’m sorry…_

_Gabe, I’m sorry…_

****

   It was quiet when Gabriel emerged from the shadows, too quiet. It wasn’t the silence of an abandoned base either, but rather a tense, expectant silence as though it was waiting for something to happen or as though something had already happened. Unnerved he raised his shotguns straightaway, eyes narrowed behind his mask as he glanced around, a dull ache in his chest as he realised that he had emerged in the middle of the sleeping quarters. _Sentimental fool…_ He’s not blind to why his thoughts had brought him here, eyes easily straying to the dorm that he had shared with Jack and the others and lingering for a moment, it’s tempting to go and look at where it had all begun, but he quashes the urge with a growl. He’s here to hunt, not take a trip down memory lane and he hastily slips into the shadows again before he forgets that, shadow stepping across to the command centre, because if it is Jack then that’s where he’ll be.

    The room is quiet, but it’s been disturbed, bullet holes riddling the walls and there’s a large hole in the opposite wall that he recognises as the blast of Soldier 76’s rockets and his eyes narrow as he glances at the computers. The screens are dark, the keyboards still coated in dust, untouched and an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. It’s the one trait that’s never changed, Soldier 76 always searches the computers as well as the archives…always…often stealing data right from under Reaper’s nose, although he has no idea how helpful the information was. _So, what changed?_

    Movement catches his attention, and he whirls, firing without thought and smirking as his target goes down with a sharp cry. There’s a figure lying crumpled in the doorway and his eyes zero in on the light of the soul hovering above him, before dismissing it for a moment as he realises that whoever he’s just shot isn’t wearing that idiotic jacket and he growls, lowering his weapon before moving across to the body and nudging it over with his toe. The familiar face paintings make him snarl, just another low-level thug attached to Los Muertos, an unimportant kill if it wasn’t for the fact that it seemed as though he had been running away from something and if his side wasn’t soaked with blood from a wound that Reaper hadn’t inflicted. He hesitates for a moment before reaching for the flickering soul before it can fade completely, hastily devouring it and grimacing at the way the nanites in his body ripple at the fresh food, a memory that doesn’t belong to him playing through his mind.

_There was no warning, not even a rustle of material or breath before the world had gone up in flames around them, rockets slamming into the wall and scattering a group of gang members, those who hadn’t reacted fast enough laying where they fell as bullets began to rain down hard and fast. The first glimpse he had of their assailant was the bright crimson of a tactical visor above the pulsing tip of a rifle, a devil emerging from the dark of the corridor, seemingly uncaring of the fact that they were returning fire with everything they had…and nothing seemed to work… their attacked pressing forwards as their numbers fell, and in the end he’d turned and fled, hoping to call for aid and find somewhere to hide before he could join them in death…_

“That was no devil,” Reaper muttered to the body as it fell apart in front of him, collapsing into ash as the soul faded to nothing, devoured by his nanites as the memory faded. Even after all these years reaping left a bitter taste in his mouth, but today he didn’t dwell on that thought, because he had seen what the other man hadn’t. Soldier 76 had been hit, more than once in that attack. A reckless attack, almost as though he had been seeking death as there had been no attempts to hide or shield himself from the bullets raining down on him, and there had been a hesitance in the initial attack that only someone familiar with his attacking style would have noticed. He had already been wounded.

_Idiot…_

    Abandoning the command centre, he sheathed his weapons, doubting that he would need them just yet and instead focusing on the trail of destruction that led further into the base. It didn’t take long for him to find more bodies, their souls having already faded out of existence and he finds himself speeding up, torn between hoping that the hunt is over and that he will get to do the deed himself.

   He almost misses it, the faint trail that leads off to the side from the worst of the destruction, not sure what had drawn his attention to the small side corridor, but quickly homing in the blood against the wall, as though someone had lent there for a moment to catch their breath. His form is shifting again, excitement, bloodlust and the hope that he’s finally going to get some answers threatening to make him come undone as he finds the trail of blood, light to start with, but getting heavier as it leads further away from the scene of the battle. In the back of his mind he has to admire the man’s determination to get this far if he’s as injured as Reaper suspects he is, but its irritating, dragging out the hunt when he just wants it over and done with.

   In the end, he almost falls over the other man, the Soldier having taking refuge in a narrow gap between two half-collapsed shelving units. For a moment, he thinks that the other man is dead, it might even be a blessing as he takes in the blood covering the man and staining the floor beneath him. However, when he focuses he can hear weak, ragged breaths and make out the soft, flickering light of the soul that isn’t quite ready to let go.

“Hey,” he nudges the closest foot, watching intently for some kind of reaction, not about to forget the pain of being hit with the man’s helix rockets. But he doesn’t stir, weapon lying abandoned beside him and after a moment Reaper drew one of his own guns before crouching down in front of Soldier 76, still searching for any hint of deception. The mask and visor are cracked, the screen on the latter beyond repair and dark and he hesitates for a moment before reaching out, pressing the gun into silvery hair even as he reaches for the mask, claws easily slicing through the damaged clasps and letting it fall aside with a clatter. His breath catching as he finally gets to see the face hidden underneath and almost wishing that he hadn’t.

   It’s nothing like the one that he remembers, the face that haunts his memories more often than he wants to admit and he’s not sure whether that makes it better or worse. The handsome features that had always lit up so easily when Jack smiled are weathered with age and a life spent on the run, the skin paler than he remembered it, standing out vividly against the black of his armour as he runs his fingers across the scars that mar the other man’s face. Scars that remind him painfully of the day he had lost his temper and destroyed nearly every photo of the two of them he had, tearing them apart, half imagining that he was tearing Jack apart, wanting him to hurt as much as he had been hurting back then. His fingers linger there for a moment before he pulls his hand back.

“Jack Morrison.” It’s a confirmation and a curse all at once. He doesn’t know how to feel at having his suspicions confirmed, his stomach twisting itself in knots at he stares at the face that is both familiar and that of a stranger. There’s anger and hate, stronger than they’ve been for a while, because it had helped to think that Jack was dead, that Zurich had punished him for everything he’d done, and hadn’t done and yet here he is. Alive. Alive in a way that Reaper isn’t anymore, although not for long looking at him, and Reaper’s fingers tighten on the trigger. It would be so easy. Jack isn’t going to get up again, not without help and it would be so easy, to end this, to end him and put those feelings to rest.

    It would be so easy, and yet it isn’t. Because even as he pushes the gun harder against silver hair, he can feel his emotions rising, his form threatening to disintegrate on him again because this is Jack…his Jack…Jack who he had mourned despite himself, whose grave he had spent endless hours besides, apologising to him and cursing him all in one breath. Jack whose alive and in front of him, and not lost beneath the ruins of Zurich.

Jack…who is stirring?

    Reaper’s breath catches, form shuddering as Jack groans faintly, the sound tugging at his heart in a way that it has no right to and he nearly lets himself disintegrate when blue eyes drift open a moment later. He pauses at the last moment, eyes widening behind his mask as he realises that the bright blue that he had loved so much is gone, replaced with a soft, milky blue that doesn’t seem to be able focus on anything and his heart aches at the sight. He doesn’t know why, he shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care, and yet he does because it’s another loss on top of everything else. Another thing that’s changed. He wants to speak, but the words won’t come, his fingers tightening on his weapon although he makes no effort to shoot, instead tensing when that strange, unseeing gaze lands on him.

“Gabe…” Jack’s voice is weak, broken in a way that he’s never heard it before and Reaper has no idea how to respond. He had come here to confirm his suspicions, put an end to this, not speak and all he can do is watch as Jack reaches out with trembling fingers. Does he really think that Reaper is going to help him? Doesn’t he feel the gun that’s still pressed against his head? “Gabe? Gabe…” His heart hammers in his chest as Jack repeats his name over and over, almost like it’s a mantra, apologies slipping in as he becomes more and more frantic. The broken voice barely audible even in the silence around him and Reaper hates it, his finger tightening on his gun once more, wanting to end this and silence Jack. He doesn’t want to hear those words, those apologies, not now. In the past they might have made a difference, but now? Now he’s not even alive anymore, and Jack… Jack’s fading right in front of his eyes. “Gabe…please…”

   It’s the desperation in that plea that makes him pause, watching Jack intently as the milky eyes threaten to drift shut again, realising for the first time that Jack seems to have no idea that he’s there and he shifts, uneasy with that realisation. Because if Jack has no idea he’s there…something stirs in his chest as Jack calls for him again, pleading for forgiveness, something unpleasant, as he wonders if this has been what it’s been like since then. If this is what Jack has been doing since Zurich. Had he been calling out for Gabriel whenever he was in need? Whenever he was hurt? It’s that final thought that has him lowering the gun, muttering a curse under his breath, not sure if he’s angrier with himself or Jack and trying desperately not to think of the number of times he had injured the other man in their confrontations over the last few months, how many times he might’ve reduced Jack to this state without even knowing it. _Damn it, why do I care...?_

   Yet he does care, mist rising from his skin as he slowly puts his weapon away. He can’t let it end like this, and hesitantly he shifts closer, reaching out to grasp Jack’s face, as though that will help the other man focus on him and for a moment he’s overwhelmed. Memories of holding Jack’s face like this, pulling him into gentle kisses, shouting at him to stay awake, reassuring him after nightmares have driven him out of a peaceful sleep flashing through his mind and he nearly pulls back. Jack though seems to rally a little at the gentle touch, blinking heavily as he forces his eyes open again, and that’s enough to coax Gabriel’s voice to work.

“I’m here.” He knows that he sounds nothing like he used to, yet another change that the nanites have wrought on his body, but it appears to be enough as Jack seems to still at his voice, sightless eyes seeking him out.

“Gabe…?”

“Yeah, I’m here Jack.” The urge to flee is nearly overwhelming, this isn’t what he’d come here to do, he’s not even sure this is what he wants because the anger, the hatred, it’s all still there just beneath the surface and yet he doesn’t pull away. “I’m here.” Relief, so pure that it takes his breath away passes over Jack’s face at his words and he’s caught by surprise when the other man slumps against him a moment later. Fumbling he manages to catch him, struggling to hold himself together as Jack clutches at him as though he’s the only thing in the world keeping him there and it’s too much, they’re too close and he wants to push Jack away, instead tugging him closer until he’s practically cradling in him in his arms and its worse. Because now he can feel clearly just how thin that Jack is, how light and fragile he feels and stills, suddenly terrified that the slightest move could break him.

   It takes him a moment to realise that he can no longer hear Jack’s voice, the silence suddenly overwhelming without the litany of apologies and when he glances down he swallows, realising that Jack has passed out in his arms. It’s harder to hold himself together this time, overwhelmed by the fact that he has Jack in his arms again, that the idiot had trusted him enough to let go like this. Although from the dampness seeping through his clothes, he might not have had a choice, and it’s only the realisation that he’s the only thing holding Jack up that lets him remain solid, mind racing as he tries to plan his next move, because this was not the plan and Talon…Talon were not going to take this betrayal lightly. It’s sheer desperation that has him shifting Jack just enough to let him reach for his communicator, growling under his breath as he fumbles with the device, nearly dropping it before managing to call the one person that might be able to help him deal with this mess.

“Sombra.”


	2. Chapter 2

   Gabriel whistled under his breath as he stepped out of the shadows into the address that Sombra had given him, tightening his hold on Jack as he glanced around, searching for the slightest hint of danger in the room they’d just entered. He trusted Sombra, probably too much, but he wasn’t blind to the fact that she had her own agenda, they all did, and it wouldn’t be the first time that his faith had been misplaced. His gaze darted to Jack and then skittered away again as he pushed that thought aside and returned his attention to the apartment they were stood in. Nothing seemed out of place and it was quiet, the nanites having enhanced his hearing to the point where he would be able to hear people moving around in the flats around them, but here, all he could hear was the ragged sound of Jack’s breathing and slowly he released a sigh of relief. Slightly more relaxed now he allowed himself to properly take in their surroundings, it was small, but that wouldn’t matter, what was more important was that it was surprisingly well-furnished, almost homely in a way and he nodded in approval.

It would do…

   If he hadn’t already owed Sombra for her help in tracking Jack down in the first place, then he certainly owed her now, especially as they both highly aware of what Talon would do if they realised what he was doing and that she had helped him. Although he doubted that she would leave any tracks for them to find. She was good, even he would admit that although probably not where she could hear him. But still…

“You’re always causing trouble,” he grumbled at the still form in his arms, trying not to think about how he was holding Jack, cradling the other man against his chest, the same way that he had always carried him when something had gone around. Once upon a time it had been to let Jack listen to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, his stomach churning as he imagined what Jack would be able to hear now if he was awake…the sound of nanites whirring, the sound of a body constantly fighting to keep itself together and just the thought of it was almost enough to have him pushing Jack away from him. Almost, because Jack hadn’t stirred in the slightest, even the shift in temperature that would have come from shadow-stepping hadn’t garnered a reaction from the other man. “Jack?” He called softly, carefully shifting his hold so that he could see Jack’s face, sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes fell on the changed features once more and it took him a moment to find his voice again, because damn it, Jack looked so fragile, so broken and he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t hurt to see it and yet he does, and it cuts deep. “Jack? Mi…” He faltered, the once familiar nickname sticking in his throat as he realises that he can’t use it any more…Jack has changed, he has changed…and he swallows thickly before trying again, a new nickname for a new time. “Mi Luna?”

   In the end, it didn’t matter, because Jack didn’t stir, the only sound in the room was his strained breathing and it occurred to Gabriel that he sounded worse than before. It’s enough to settle his whirling thoughts for the time being, giving him something to focus on. He had always been better when he was busy, it had been why he had hated the time between missions when he had been trapped in his office during paperwork, left to overthink things and twist them in his own mind. He shook his head, knowing that the past wasn’t going to help him now, although at the same time he could feel it winding itself tighter and tighter around him as he glanced back down at Jack.

_Help him…_

    Carefully, with a gentleness he hadn’t known he still possessed he moved forward, trying his best not to jostle Jack as he moved across the living room towards what he hoped was the bedroom. It was, although he came up short at the sight of the double bed, and for a moment his vision seemed to blur, and he was back in their old quarters. Jack’s side of the bed had always been a mess, rumpled covers, an extra blanket lying half on the bed and trailing across the floor, a book trapped between the bed and the bedside table where he had fallen asleep reading, blond hair sticking out from where he had buried himself under the covers. He had always been much neater, sleeping curled towards Jack, one hand always touching some part of his partner, a constant reassurance for them both that he was there.

   A low growl rose in his throat at the memory. It hurt. Stung more than it had in years, and he could feel his body threatening to fall apart as he took a wary step away from the bed. He had managed to push these thoughts, these memories away for so long, to the point where he had allowed himself to hope that they were gone for good and yet in a single day they were all welling up again. All because of Jack. It was always Jack and his arms tightened around the man in his arms, his previous urge to just end this rising thick and heavy in his chest, it would be so easy. Hell, it might even be a mercy at this point, for them both.

Just one shot and they would both be free.

   He didn’t do it though, instead forcing himself forwards, gently settling Jack onto the bed and immediately missing the weight in his arms, a harsh chuckle slipping out at that realisation. He had always teased Jack for being a sentimental fool, yet here he was being worse than Jack had ever been and he grimaced. _Maybe he should have been the one scolding me_ , he shook his head, not too much as to banish the thought but more to make himself focus on the present, cautiously settling on the edge of the bed and watching Jack for a moment. He hesitated before reaching up and finally removing his own mask, settling it down carefully on the floor. There was no point to it now, at least not when it was just the two of them, although its absence left him feeling vulnerable because whilst Jack couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the changes that he had undergone, but he felt naked without it and itched to put it back on. He resisted the urge, although he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at it before turning his attention back to Jack.

“Jack,” he called, making his voice as soft as he could, not an easy task these days and he grimaced at the sound. “Jack, you need to wake up.” Part of him preferred the fact that Jack was unconscious, that he had no idea of the turmoil gripping his rescuer. Hell, he was even relieved that it meant that he was oblivious to the pain that he must be in, but he knew that he needed the other man to wake up if he was going to help him. If he could help him, he amended, taking another look at the damage to Jack’s clothes, focusing on the blood staining the material. Jack was in a bad shape and Gabriel was far from being a medic, sure he could stich a wound and do emergency first aid, they both could, it had been drilled into them often enough back in SEP, but it wasn’t enough. However, for now it was going to have to do, because neither of them were free to just walk into the nearest hospital and something dark and possessive rose at the thought of letting someone else tend to Jack. “Jack…” He hesitated for a moment, torn, before he reached out to cup Jack’s cheek, running a gloved thumb over the weathered skin. _When did you get so old Jack?_ The gesture was a strange mix of familiar and foreign, just like the face beneath his searching fingertips and it took him a moment to get his voice to work again. “Mi Luna, wake up.”

  He had made it an order this time, drawing on the Blackwatch Commander he had once been and this time he was rewarded with the tiniest shift in Jack’s expression. Pain broke up the blank expression and he instantly found himself regretting waking him when Jack’s breath caught a moment, a soft noise, not even enough to be called a whimper escaping. However, he leant forward, gently drawing circles with his thumb as he tried to coax Jack back to consciousness, eventually being rewarded with the sight of milky eyes creeping open.

“G…” It seemed to be all that Jack could manage to force out, but it would have to do, because Gabriel caught the hitch in his breathing that followed the whisper and he knew that he was running out of time if he wanted to help him.

“I need to look at your injuries,” he explained, voice slow and clear in the hopes that it would be easier for Jack to understand, fighting back a growl when Jack’s eyes immediately began to close once more. “Jack is that okay?” He asked more sharply this time, demanding a response, and trying to ignore the dull ache that came from having to ask for permission. In the past, he had never need to ask, his touch had been permitted, welcomed without a word needing to be spoken. Jack shifted, clearly still not fully with him which was probably a good thing, but there was a tiny nod and he decided to take what he could even if he had a feeling that Jack didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to. He moved, reaching down to start removing Jack’s jacket, idly wondering where he had found it as he hadn’t had it back before…before…he shook his head, starting when fingers caught his wrist, curling weakly around it. “Jack?”

“Sorry…Gabe…I’m so sorry…Gabe…” Jack whispered, clutching at him although his current state meant that his grip was barely there, and Gabriel had no difficulty in freeing himself, recoiling physically even as he mentally flinched at the words. Jack was barely holding on, barely even conscious and yet he still forced the words out with a single-minded desperation that terrified Gabriel. He didn’t know how to handle this, to handle the fact that Jack, or at least this injured version of him doesn’t seem to hate him. He doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that Jack was finally apologising to him and he can feel himself beginning to fade out, form threatening to crumble, white noise filling his ears as his nanites threaten to come apart at the seams. “Gabe…”

“S-Stop,” Gabriel managed to grit out through clenched teeth, the world coming back into focus for a moment and he scowled when he realised that Jack was still going, his voice little more than a weak thread of sound even in the silence of the apartment. “Stop, just stop.” _Please_. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready to hear those words, but he certainly wasn’t ready right now. Thankfully his words seemed to get through, either that or Jack had run out of strength and personally he suspected the latter, but right now he didn’t care, sucking in a relieved breath as silence fell and focused on grounding himself once more.

   Jack’s eyes were still open when he was able to focus once more, but his expression was distant, as though he wasn’t really there, and Gabriel fought back a shiver as he stared at the sightless eyes for a long minute. Once he felt steady enough he reached out once more, carefully unzipping the jacket, grimacing at the hideous thing and dropping it carelessly odd to the side. His expression contorted as he stared at Jack, without the jacket it was impossible to miss the state that Jack was in and for a moment he was overwhelmed by the task that lay ahead of him. Maybe he should just take a risk and dump Jack at a hospital, but Jack had clearly been hiding from the world, and Gabriel wasn’t quite ready to out him. It bothered him though. Yes, Jack had been operating in plain sight, but he had been doing so hidden behind a mask, hiding in plain sight and Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder why. After all, even with everything that had happened with Zurich and everything, he was sure that Jack would have been welcomed in the new Overwatch. Maybe, once this was over and Jack was on the mend he would ask, maybe…

   For now, he focused on Jack, carefully trying to pull the undershirt up, only to freeze when it caught on the wounds that lay underneath it, earning a breathless whimper from his patient. A malicious part of him nearly continued, wanting Jack to hurt for everything that had happened, but after a moment he sighed and reached down to his boot, retrieving the small knife that he still carried. It was a habit that Jack had taught him back in their SEP days, and his fingers curled around the handle for a moment before he lifted it, slowly slicing through the material of the shirt and peeling it away, pausing whenever Jack shifted or whimpered.

   The sounds tugged at his heart, reminding him of countless days in their rooms back at SEP when he had helped the blond through the worst of their treatments and vice versa, of lonely nights in the middle of nowhere when missions had gone wrong…and of that day in Zurich when the last thing he had heard was Jack’s whimpers of pain through the communicator in his ear.

   He wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t have the words and he was afraid that if he spoke, his voice might encourage Jack to start apologising again and he still wasn’t ready to handle that. Instead he settled for reaching out and lightly brushing his fingers against Jack’s cheek, feeling the heat of his skin and finding himself leaning closer. _He’s really here, really alive_ …he remained like that, longer than he meant to, still not sure how to feel about that realisation. In the end, it was another muffled noise of pain dragged him out of his thoughts, and he pulled his fingers back when he realised that Jack was stirring uneasily once more, head moving fretfully from side to side. It took him a moment to realise that Jack’s mouth was moving even though no sound was coming out, and it didn’t take him much to recognise the shape of his name and his breath caught again.

“I’m here.” The murmured reassurance slipped out before he could stop it and he cursed himself, waiting for the unwanted apologies to restart. Instead Jack seemed to settle a little, eyes drifting shut although Gabriel got the impression that he wasn’t quite unconscious just yet.

   Relieved he shifted his attention back to Jack’s injuries, and all traces of relief disappeared in an instant. The removal of Jack’s top revealed that the lightness, the fragility he had felt earlier when he had held the other man hadn’t been an illusion and his fingers trembling faintly as he reached out, easily able to make out Jack’s ribs beneath his touch, the pale skin stretched thin and he closed his eyes at the sight. _Jack. Mi Sol…Mi Luna, what have you been doing to yourself?_ It wasn’t the first time he’d worried about the idiot’s eating habits, remembering how he had often snuck meals into Jack’s office in the early days of his promotion, forcing him to eat with him because Jack had been so overwhelmed by his new responsibilities that he had often forgotten to eat. Even later, when they had drifted apart and argued more often that they spoke, he would make sure that someone made Jack managed to eat and now with no one to fill that role, Jack…Jack had apparently just given up on taking care of himself. “Idiot,” he muttered, the insult fonder and more concerned than he’d intended it to be, fingers lingering on overheated skin as he remembered a time when they would have met firm muscle and soft, tan flesh and he growled at the remembered sensations. _Jack…_

   However, as much as it pained him to see what Jack had done to himself, it was a problem for later because right now the wounds were of greater concern. It seemed as though nearly every inch of skin was riddled with scars and bruises, but as painful as he knew the latter must be, it was the other injuries that drew his attention, hissing under his breath as he studied them. There was a deep gash that ran the length of his side, the edges ragged, indicating it had come from the serrated knives that he had spied several of the gang members carrying and three separate gunshot wounds. Despite himself he was impressed, even in his current state Jack had managed to survive what would kill most people. Although whether that would last…he shot a glance at Jack’s face, the sightless eyes still hidden from sight, his breathing a heavy rasp. Gingerly, still not sure whether he wanted to help or harm he let his fingers ghost over each wound in turn, letting a few of his nanites stream off and into the wounds. They wouldn’t heal him, but they could at least give him a better idea of what he was dealing with.

Death.

   He recoiled as the sensation washed over him, bile rising in his throat. It was a sensation that he should have been used to, after all his own body was in a constant state of dying, never quite managing it…but still dying… but this was different, because the impression was coming from the nanites in Jack and with a gasp he wrenched them back. The sensation immediately vanished, leaving him shaken as he stared at Jack, stomach churning as turbulent emotions stirred in his chest. Jack was dying, he would die without help. He had known that from the moment he had found him, but it was different to feel it and he didn’t know what to do now that his suspicions…fears had been confirmed. He had spent so long hoping that Jack was dead, and then wanting to kill him with his own two hands. But this… he closed his eyes. He could end it, he didn’t even have to lift a finger, it wouldn’t even take that long, and he could be free…

“You’re not allowed to die.” Gabriel wasn’t aware of making a decision, emotions still whirling in his chest, vacillating between just wanting it to end and needing to protect Jack…but still he found himself reaching out, voice a low growl as he added. “Not like this.”

_Not like this…_

**

   Gabriel heaved a sigh as he finally sat back, staring down at the blood staining his fingers, his gloves having long since been discarded. It made him nauseous to see Jack’s blood against his skin, ironic considering how long he had dreamed of spilling it and how much blood he had shed. But it didn’t stop him from hastily wiping them against the ruined remnants of Jack’s undershirt. It had taken far longer than he’d thought it would, and certainly far longer than he liked to get Jack’s injuries cleaned up, his expression darkening as he glanced at the bedside table and the bullets that rested there, closing his eyes against the memory of having to dig them out. He had done it before, they both had. but somehow it had been worse this time, and part of him wished that he could take those bullets back and return them in the most painful way possible to their owners. Still he had to be grateful for the fact that their days fighting together had left him knowing what to do, the thought of going in completely blind…he shook his head, forcing his eyes open again so that he could study Jack.

    Once again, he had to be grateful to Sombra, the apartment was much better equipped than any of his safe houses were, although he supposed that was normal when you didn't have nanites to heal you. That and Sombra was always prepared, for all her mischief and joking around, she had a cautious streak a mile long. Either way he was grateful, because without those supplies Jack would probably have already slipped away on him. As it was the wounds were clean now and stitched, hidden beneath bandages although he was dismayed to realise that specks of blood were already soaking through the material. Jack couldn’t afford to lose more blood.

   He didn’t need his nanites to know that the Jack was still hovering on the edge of death, and he wasn’t about to reach out and experience that sensation again and it was unnecessary anyway. He could see the truth in the unnatural pales of Jack’s face, broken only by the flush of fever in his cheeks, a fever that had only climbed in the last hour or so and he knew that he was going to have to find a way to combat it, preferably without dunking Jack in a bath as it wouldn’t do his other injuries any good. He could hear it in the ragged breathing, shallower than before and in the way that the rise and fall of Jack’s chest would falter at times, to the point where he found himself holding his breath each time. _He’s slipping_ …what made it worse was the realisation that there was nothing more he could do, not with the supplies and abilities he had on hand, and even drawing on memories of the lessons gleaned from Ana and Angela in the past had yielded little in the way of useful information.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he growled, repeating his earlier command, only this time there was an underlying air of desperation to the words. Because whilst he had done what he could and would continue to do so, because he knew that now he had come this far there was no way he could give into the urge to just end it…even if his fingers itched for his guns each time Jack seemed to falter…he knew that part of what it boiled down to was whether Jack wanted to fight it. What scared him, even though he refused to admit it, even in the safety of his own thoughts, was that Jack might not want to come back. That he might not want to live, that now he had whispered those broken, desperate apologies he might feel that he had nothing to fight for, and he had to quash the urge to reach out and grab Jack’s hand and tell him that he still had things to fight for. It would have been a lie, because he had no idea what Jack was fighting for now, what ideals he still clung to…he didn’t know Jack anymore, he hadn’t known him for a long time… and it had been a painful realisation, fuelled by the sight of old scars and markings that he had once known off by heart, and the sight of fresh scars, of battles and stories that he didn’t know. “You’re not allowed to die,” he settled for repeating, hoping that it would be enough.

_Jack…don’t die._

_Please..._

**

   He couldn’t stay still and once he had Jack securely settled under the covers on the bed he began to clean up, needing something to keep his hands busy. Jack’s clothes largely went in the bin, they were unsalvageable, and he might not need them again, a small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. But the jacket, as much as he loathed it, he couldn’t bring himself to throw away and instead he dumped it in the laundry basket he found in the bathroom to be dealt with later. He tidied the medical supplies away, noting with concern how little remained as he packed it into the bedside cabinet so that it would be within reach if…when…he needed it, and he knew that he would have to venture out at some point to get more, because he refused to contemplate the fact that Jack might not need it soon.

  Once that was done he cleaned himself up, grimacing as he cleaned Jack’s blood off himself, carefully avoiding look at his reflection as he washed in the basin. He didn’t want to see his ruined features or the worry and confusion that he was certain he would be able to see in his eyes, fingers curling on the edge of the basin, threatening to break it. With no pressing task, he found his thoughts wondering again, emotions rising as Jack’s weak voice echoed through his mind, those cursed apologies replaying, and he growled under his breath, wondering again what he was doing here, why he cared…why the thought of Jack dying left him breathless with terror.

Why do I care?

    Thankfully he was distracted from his spiralling thoughts by the sound of his communicator going off and he snatched it, clinging to it like a lifeline, although he retained enough presence of mind to check the caller ID. He still hadn’t worked out what he was going to do, but he was reluctant to cut ties with Talon just yet if he could help it, but it was Sombra’s name on the screen and he huffed out a sigh of relief before accepting the call.

“Sombra.” He was relieved when his voice came out it usual gruff rasp, marginally softer than it would be with anyone else, but still normal. As much as he trusted her, she already knew too much about Jack and his interest in the other man. It wouldn’t do to increase her knowledge or curiosity. Of course, it didn’t stop that from being the first thing that she asked.

_“How is he?”_

   He had only given her the basic details earlier, but it had been enough to paint a grim picture and there was a cautious edge to her voice that wasn’t normally there, and he realised that she was expecting it to be bad news. Maybe it would be better if it was bad news or if he pretended it was, but as he moved to stand in the doorway so that he could study Jack, gaze focused on the rise and fall of his chest he knew that he couldn’t lie.

“Alive…for now.” _And he had better stay that way…_ Silence greeted his words and he almost thought that the call had been disconnected before she sighed.

 _“What are you going to do Gabe?”_ Normally he would have growled at her for using the nickname, but he didn’t have the energy to right now and considering how much he now owed her it was a minor inconvenience. Although it didn’t stop him from flashing back to Jack’s broken whisper of his old nickname and he shifted uncomfortably, past and present were colliding, and he didn’t like, his form wavering before Sombra continued, her voice giving him something to focus on, reminding him that she had asked a question. _“It won’t take them long to realise that both of you have disappeared, and as stupid as most of them are, someone will connect the dots.”_ He doubted it, but he knew that it was a risk and he had been careful to avoid those risks until now, and he couldn’t help but glare at Jack.

_You’re nothing but trouble…_

“I don’t know,” he admitted, too honestly, but he was too weary in body and mind right now to care. Part of him just wanted to leave right now, to pretend that everything was normal, but he knew that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t walk away now, not until he knew that Jack was on the mend. _Damn you Jack, how do you do this every time?_ How many times had he prepared to walk away back then only to find himself unable to go through with it? How many times had they made up, unable to hold onto their anger with each other? It wasn’t a new thing, and he knew that it didn’t just rest in Jack’s hands, but it was easier to blame him and right now he needed something to be easy. “For now, I’m hoping to hide it, play it off as being injured and hope they don’t connect the dots.” It wasn’t a plan, not even the foundations for one, but right now it was all he had and it might work, after all he had cultured a reputation for disappearing when injured so that might buy him a few days, after that…

   He expected Sombra to argue or yell at him for his lack of planning, it wouldn’t be the first time, for all the difference in their age she was like a mother hen at times. However, today was certainly one for surprises because she groaned.

 _“Fine,”_ she muttered, adding something softly in Spanish that he didn’t quite catch but was definitely not complimentary. _“Just be careful, I don’t want to see my favourite mercenary bite the dust because he can’t let go of the past.”_

“I don’t plan to.”

 _“You didn’t plan any of this and that’s what worries me.”_ There it was, her voice sharp before she groaned, and he could imagine her tapping her fingers against the closest surface, the only nervous tell she would allow herself. _“I’ll run what interference I can, and I’ll see about getting some more medical supplies to you…”_ That was more than he had hoped for. He would never have asked for more help, knowing how much she had already risked getting him this far.

“I owe you.”

 _“I know, I’ll add it to your tab.”_ She hung up before he could say anything else, neither of them good at goodbyes and he sighed before putting the communicator away and turning his gaze back to Jack. She was right, he was risking everything he had been working for, his revenge, just because he couldn’t let go of the past. Was it worth it? He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do when …if…Jack woke up? Would he be able to listen to his apologies? Would he be able to let go of his revenge?

   He wasn’t sure, and he growled, one day…one man…and everything had been turned upside down, memories hitting him hard and fast, feelings that he had buried, and he wavered, nanites struggling to hold him together again and after a moment it all became too much and he disintegrated. Like this it was impossible for him to escape the feeling of death coming from Jack, and he growled, eyeing the weak flickering orb of Jack’s soul before fleeing the room. The temptation to just end it was strong, Jack’s soul was in no state to fight him, it could be over in seconds, but he couldn’t. _No_ , he didn’t want to give into the urge, even as he hungered to just get it over with and so he fled, knowing that he wouldn’t go too far, that sooner or later he would need to go back just to make sure that Jack didn’t die on him and he hated it…hated the pull the man still held over him…hated Jack…and loved him all one breath.

_Damn you Jack Morrison…._


End file.
